


The Red Room

by Strange and Intoxicating -rsa- (strangeandintoxicating)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blood, Gore, I can't explain better than that, I have no idea what the main ship of this is going to be, Just Read The First Chapter, Multi, Prompto is a very well-paid hooker with lots of secrets, Prompto is... not Normal Prompto, Prostitute!Prompto, Sex, This is Special Prompto, This is probably going to be dark, Violence, kinks will be added as we go through this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2018-10-13 00:12:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10502394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeandintoxicating/pseuds/Strange%20and%20Intoxicating%20-rsa-
Summary: Prompto Argentum is a man of trinkets—trading his body for things he wants instead of things he needs.Ardyn Izunia wants to trade—one tiny, insignificant trinket for something much bigger.And Noctis? This is where things become very, very complicated.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, guys! I mentioned that I was writing this a few weeks ago and I finally finished the first chapter... We'll see how it goes. Honestly, I haven't even decided the main pairing yet. I am borderline thinking Prompto/Noctis, but I am actually more of a fan of OT4. But, well, no matter who you are a fan of Prompto will no doubt be fucking them.
> 
> Warning for massive amounts of sexual content. Prompto is a prostitute who very much enjoys his job. He's probably going to be with everyone by the time this story is over.

Prompto loved his job.

It was in the little things; for example, the beautiful Altissian chandelier hanging above his head, glittered of black opals and diamonds, wrought in gold and ebony. When the lights flickered on it cast the entire red room into an ethereal glow. Another was the Wyvern rug at the foot of his bed, the soft fur like butter under his toes. The tapestry behind his bed was a relic from Solheim—Prompto knew it was the real thing because of the way it smelled and felt like ash and tar.

He had his little trinkets across the shelves of his parlor room: Chips of the meteor embed into platinum. One Leviathan scale that sounded like the rippling tides when Prompto listened close enough. Glass from where Ramuh's thunderbolt hit the desert of Cartanica. An eternally frozen rose, still cold to the touch. The Ascension Coins for almost every Oracle since the end of the great Starscourge, the few glaring openings ready for when a suitor would care for his attentions.

Prompto wasn't sure he would get them all; he had been looking for such a long time, and he doubted someone would bring him the rest… to make a set. There was the issue with having the first Oracle Ascension coins thrown into Ravatogh.

That had been… not a good idea.

Others had been lost to time, and Prompto would have been pleased by anything at this point. He knew that his lovers were meticulous; it there were any in the world, they would find them.

And he loved them for it.

"Oh, Regis. Thank you," Prompto smiled up at the King as the man presented him with a jewel-encrusted throwing star charm. While he had never been one for jewelry, he loved the gifts King Regis would give him. How many charms did Prompto have, now? One for each anniversary… one for each year… "It's beautiful."

Prompto reached up and caressed the King's beard, noting the paleness to his cheeks and the crow's feet leaving chasms across his skin.

"And you, dear heart, are as beautiful as the day I met you."

Prompto looked up at King Regis through heavy, blond lashes. He gave the King a boyish smirk. "You treat me too kindly, y'know."

"You have stayed by my side for thirty years, Prompto. This old man doesn't deserve such beauty."

Prompto scoffed and pulled at his silk red robe, the robe he knew King Regis loved. It was the same color as the walls; rich like roses, like blood. "I get to decide what I think is deserving."

"As you always have."

Prompto looked up into deep green eyes, smiling as he reached up to run his fingers against the King's jaw and up to push back a tuft of graying hair. "Now, let me repay you for your kindness. Come with me."

As of late, sex had become quite difficult for Regis; it was not that he hd any issues with taking a lover nor satisfying them—by the Six, Prompto had been pleased too many times to even remember—but he also knew that the stress of the Wall was becoming unbearable. It was in the chasms, in the slight dullness of the man's eyes. He was only fifty, but everything about him spoke of the Crystal's grip.

Instead, Prompto pulled him from the sitting room and toward the bedroom, smile full of life and teeth as he took care to not strain Regis's bad knee. He left his robe on, but removed Regis's clothing, only leaving the little platinum crown that branched through his hair. Prompto liked the crown; the old ones had been so ugly, so heavy. They had always hurt his neck and made for bruised scalps.

Mors had been right in changing the design, and Regis had been right in keeping it. Prompto had no doubts that Noctis, when the time was right, would have a beautiful crown of his own.

Massages were a weakness that Regis always had, ever since he started to come to Prompto all those years ago. His back was nothing but a big knot, and Prompto enjoyed pulling out the oil from his bedside table and laying the king down across his black sheets.

Black for royalty.

Regis's pale skin looked like ash against the sheets, but Prompto rubbed and rolled the skin under his fingers with poise and precision. He watched the skin become pink and flushed, lively like the first rose of the spring blooming. He could also see Regis's mouth parted and how his cock had become hard. That pleased Prompto more than he dare to say, instead only impishly wiggling his eyebrows to Regis's look. The charm bracelet around his wrist jingled as he worked his hands down.

After he had taken the King into his mouth and after the man—not the King, but the man— had come down his throat in hot dribbles of pearly cum, Regis rested his head against Prompto's chest and drifted off into a short sleep.

While Prompto knew he had an appointment with a new client at four o'clock, Cindy at the front desk knew to push back his appointment when the King had an unexpected trip. While new clients were exciting (and the man's application had made Prompto's shoulders shake with interest) nothing was more important than Regis… and soon, when the Crystal took all it could until it could take no more, nothing would be more important than Noctis.

There wasn't much time, but Prompto slowly moved his hand down to the Ring, gently prying Regis's hand toward his mouth. The Wall did not so much as shudder as Prompto pressed his lips against the red jewel, feeling the incredible heat against his mouth. It burned, because it always burned, but…

It would give Regis the strength to continue on, and knowing that allowed Prompto to push through the pain and  _breathe_  into the Ring.

There was a reason why Prompto chose red for his walls.

It hurt; it always hurt. The blinding agony as he gave the Ring what it wanted, what it craved, made Prompto's head spin. He felt the vomit burning up his throat and he had to grip his other hand to push himself forward. Regis needed this, and Prompto needed to  _give_  this.

The light returned to Regis's face, the lines of stress slowly but surely fading away as the man stayed in his blissful sleep.

Over the long, long years, Prompto had learned easily enough how to manipulate the Ring, how to give it what it needed…. At least for a short while. While he was good with his hands and even better with his mouth, even Prompto couldn't give Regis the relief through a simple massage.

Yet Regis would say nothing when he woke… just like his father, and his father's father, and his father's father's father before him. All the way back, for as long as Prompto could remember…

And oh, how far back he could remember…

It was exhausting, giving a little piece of himself, but Prompto knew that he would heal up Regis in that time, or at least give him a little bit of reprieve until he came next time. As of late, it wasn't uncommon for Regis to come once a week—sometimes, when the Wall was cracking against the onslaught to the Western Wall, he would visit twice. Prompto always joked that soon enough the Kingsglaive would be sneaking a prostitute into the Citadel for them to meet, and as always Regis would reply with the same answer.

"You would be more than welcome within her walls. The Citadel is your home." He said it with such sincerity that Prompto almost believed it. Regis had always been an earnest man, wide-eyed and absolutely precious.

Prompto tied his red robe with a flourish, reaching down to take the King's hand. He kissed the open palm, avoiding the Ring.

"Not anymore."

* * *

 

Prompto was quite tired by the time Regis left, but the day was young and Prompto wasn't getting any older.

Cindy, the doll that she was, had been able to contact the interested client to push back until six o'clock; plenty of time for Prompto to catch a quick nap and to clean himself and his quarters up. No one dropped by, no one bothered him, and that was just the way Prompto liked it.

There were very few people working at Shiva's Solace—only six, not including himself. Well, eight if they counted Cindy who ran the front desk and Cid who did the numbers. While they were all experts in their own fields, beautiful supple skin and sultry glances, Prompto was… Prompto was an institution. In fact, if Prompto really spent any time thinking about it, he was  _the_  institution. It was his brothel, with his rules and his regulations. He was the one who met the girls for their first interviews—small and unassuming, yet Prompto knew the power he held within his palms. Even if they couldn't see it, Prompto was sure they could feel it.

Prompto was the one who looked through the books, looked over the applications of men and women interested in his establishment, made sure that money flowed like wine and wine flowed like sex.

Cid was a formality; a wonderful worker that acted more as the brash guardian than Prompto ever could, but Prompto knew that he could easily have done almost everything on his own… almost.

Cid was the one who would know when it was time for Prompto to go on Sabbatical for a little while… long enough for his Clients to become uninterested and to forget about the blond man in the Red Room… the blond man with the blue eyes and solemn face that told of years upon years and yet remained unblemished and unmarred. The blond man who spoke of time like it played out before his eyes, rather than through ancient scrolls or dusty books.

He was also in charge of doing the backgrounds on potential clients, weeding out the truly interested men and women from the trash before money exchanged hands. What they did was not exactly legal, but the King had told the local Insomnia police to turn a blind eye to the establishment. It wasn't fair, not really, but Prompto remembered why the rules were enacted in the first place. After having the Wise King's daughter run off to become a courtesan… it had caused quite the scandal. She had been the talk of the entire country for years, whispered about until the King had the scrolls and portraits of his Virgin Daughter burned and all brothels shut down…

Well. Most of them, at least.

Alas, it was a long time ago and times had changed…

And yet it was quite the surprise when The Man of No Consequence knocked upon his door, because…. Because…

There were reasons why Cid was supposed to look through their histories.

At first, Prompto hadn't noticed. He had pulled open his door and rested his head against the open door, letting one hand stay on the knob while the other dangled above his head, barely gripping the wood. He had given a soft smile, an inviting smile, as he inspected the man.

"Hello, handsome."

The man, Arthur Maximus, smiled wide. He had a bouquet of Sylleblossoms and Accordian lace roses—blue, Prompto's favorite color. They would clash terribly with the red walls, but Prompto was more than willing to accept gifts. It was his favorite part of the job and flowers were respectable...

Respectable. That was what Prompto thought; a respectable man with dark hair and dark eyes. He had a small goatee, He was of normal height and normal build, and according to his file was an Accordian banker of sizeable wealth in the West. And, of course, the blue flowers he held in his hand.

Yet that hadn't been what made Prompto accept the man's file. No—the Lakshima was what Prompto wanted. It was his fault for turning the poor girl into a whore in the first place. The least he could do was give her the respect she deserved; Regis would allow him to put it in the Crypts below the Citadel… Probably.

But when Prompto opened the door wide, sashaying into his parlor room with the hint of leg showing, he saw it—the Oracle coins in their perfectly imperfect lines glowing bright and white and  _oh_.

Prompto reached down into his robe and ripped out Death Penalty, aiming it at the unassuming businessman with his unassuming dark hair and dark eyes. Completely unremarkable. Death Penalty was special, just like everything else Prompto owned—Solheim-made with no safety.

Unsurprisingly, the bang of the gun still came as a shock to Prompto, and more importantly to the man whose foot was poised at the door to his rooms.

His face rippled as the bullet connected, and a few things happened in rapid succession—the bullet and flowers dropped straight out of the air and clinked onto the mahogany floor, the Oracle Coins shot up from the shelves and circled around Prompto, and the Accordian banker's face disappeared.

Prompto nearly vomited at the new face that stared back.

"Oh, deary me. And I thought that our reunion would dare to bring a smile back on that beautiful face of yours."

"I—I thought—"

"That you were safe? Oh, my sweet dear. My foolish, sweet dear. Did you believe that your King's wall would protect you?" Ardyn clicked his fingers together and the bouquet of flowers lifted from the floor. "There's a rather wide hole in the Western Wall, no doubt left to fester for a fair bit of time. Your King's Wall is beginning to splinter, my dear. There's only so long you can keep me out."

Prompto could see it now, how even though he could see Ardyn's face in front of him it was…. It was tarnished, a faded glow.

"Magic?" Prompto asked, carefully resting his finger back on the trigger. He did not let his arm rest. Ardyn had always been more skilled with his magic.

Ardyn tsked. "You know me so well, even after all these years." The man snapped his fingers again, the sylleblossoms and Accordian lace roses lifting higher from the ground and slowly floating toward Prompto. They silver coins were like razors, the pieces of shredded blue turning to confetti at his feet. The red-haired man sighed. "Ever for the theatrics. I come bearing gifts and an offer, and you slight me—"

"I don't  _want_  anything from you," Prompto ground out between clenched teeth. "I want no gifts—"

"Your Kingdom dies, the light begins to fade, and you want nothing from me?"

Prompto bit down on his bottom lip.

"Ah, do I have your undivided attention now?" His lack of response was taken as a signal to continue. "An offer, or… rather… an exchange."

"What do you want?"

Ardyn smiled. "A small thing, really. I doubt you would even notice it missing—barely a trinket. You have quite the collection of them." Ardyn gestured to the room, to the walls behind Prompto's head where the gifts he had collected for so many years stood testament to… to this.

A trinket.

"What do I get in return?"

Ardyn raised up his hands. "I only need one thing. Your useless, treacherous Kingdom can kill itself in war with Niflheim if you so desire. But the dawn will stay, and man will survive." He raised his foot and drove it down against the bullet, the sound of splintering echoing through the room.

"So. What do you want?"

"I want the boy."

Prompto did not allow himself to wince. He did not allow himself any movement at all; he dared to not even breathe.

"A fair trade, more thoughtful than most. One soul for a planet worth of souls."

"He's just a kid," Prompto protested, but Ardyn laughed.

"Do not dare to preach to me about fairness. You of all men have long ago lost the moral highground." Ardyn stared into Prompto's eyes, and he remembered them the way they once were, rather than what they were now.

"Bring me Noctis, Izunia. Bring him to me and I will allow this husk of a planet kill itself, rather than usher it to its death."

"Don't call me that."

Ardyn only sneered. 


	2. Chapter 2

"Sweetheart, the things you can do with that fucking mouth are  _ obscene. _ "

Prompto would have smiled if not for the cock down his throat. Instead he made sure to run his tongue against the thick vein running down Nyx Ulric's dick before going back down. Nyx was always up for the sounds of sex, so Prompto made sure that when he pulled back up he let the tip pop from his mouth, landing on his chin.

Nyx groaned.

Nyx had always been one of his favorites—not only was he gorgeous, with thick black hair that trailed down his stomach and up his thighs, but he knew exactly what to say to get Prompto raring to go. He really needed it that morning, but so had Nyx.

"Gunna leave me for a while?" Prompto whispered against the shaft as he kissed up to the tip, letting his tongue press against the slit. "Hope it's nothing too dangerous."

But Prompto knew that for the Kingsglaive spread out across his bed, the thrill of the hunt, the feeling of flying in the face of danger, was what really got him hot and bothered. It was a thing Prompto had picked up on ages before, and had used it to his benefit ever since. Men who fucked hard died hard.

It was difficult to get attached to those who worked under the Crown, because Prompto knew how easy it was to snuff out their light, take away their breath, give them to the darkness. He knew, somewhere deep in the haziness of time, that he had done his own fair share of killing, or maiming, or destroying. Sometimes the reminder left him writhing on the floor, wishing that there was some way to end it all. Even after he had locked away some of his memories, hiding them away from himself so that he wouldn't go absolutely mad, Prompto still knew what slept in the darkness.

He was the one who made it, after all.

"I'm gunna miss you," Nyx gasped as he arched up into Prompto's waiting mouth. He grabbed hold of sweaty blond spikes, letting his fingers drag against Prompto's skull in a way that Nyx knew made Prompto moan. "Gunna miss everything about you."

Prompto allowed one finger to slowly press against the ring of muscles just outside of Nyx with one hand as he wrapped his other around the man's thick cock. He was gentle in pulling down the uncut foreskin just as he slid in one slick finger. Nyx had never been one for full penetration, but a finger or two? Prompto could definitely get away with that. Especially, of course, when he pouted up at the soldier.

"Even this?"

Nyx only rolled his eyes, but Prompto knew that was more than enough consent.

It was funny how much peace he could find in the carnal pleasure of bodies and sweat and the stink of sex. Prompto was aware that every mission could have been the last for his favorite Kingsglaive, that the Wall around them was useless now that Ardyn could simply walk right in, but still—there was something there. Something in the predictably unpredictable ways of the human body reminded Prompto that he was still alive.

He was still alive, and Ardyn wanted him dead.

Yet that wasn't what Ardyn had asked for—no. He asked for the one thing that Prompto knew he could never give Ardyn. Two thousand years of time, two thousand years of living a half-life, barely able to live and unable to die, Prompto had earned many things. He had learned from his failures, from his pettiness, from his desires. He had long ago locked away those parts of himself that had surrendered to the hate.

He couldn't let Noctis die.

He couldn't just trade the prince to Ardyn. He knew exactly what would happen if he did. Ardyn promised a barter, because that was the kind of man Prompto had made Ardyn into. It was almost humorous how such a pious and devout man had broken. It was always until Prompto reminded himself that it was his doing that it really drove home exactly who Ardyn had taken after.

_ "I even named myself after you, my dear. What an honor it is to be named after the Founder King." _

It had always been his fault.

Prompto allowed himself to focus on the task at hand, curling his knuckled inside of the panting, moaning Kingsglaive under him. He could already smell sweat and the tell-tale magic that raced just under Nyx's skin. It was the magic Prompto had passed through his line, had handed down from generation to generation of Lucis Caelum, only to be passed to those of impure blood.

He knew that he should have been angered by that betrayal of his blood—he knew that Ardyn had, at least—but it had been Prompto who agreed, Prompto who had kissed sweet Regis across the brow and told him that yes, it was right. Regis shared his magic, shared the power of the Lucii, shared the power of the Ring. He gifted parts of himself to his men, and Prompto did what he could with their unstable cores.

A normal human was not built to withstand the magic of the Crystal or the Ring. It was meant to be a curse, and Prompto wondered as he watched the fire spreading underneath Nyx's skin just how damned he was. How damned they all were.

"Sweetheart, I'm—"

Prompto drank him down, letting that hot cum hit the back of his throat as a reminder that he was alive.

* * *

 

It had been a good morning, a better morning than Prompto had expected. 

The knowledge of the hole in the Western Wall niggled in the back of his mind, but Prompto knew that it wouldn't take much to get Regis to return—he had already told Cindy to push back all of his calls for the rest of the day in anticipation for the King's arrival. There was a certain rather unknown underground road that made traversing through to Shiva's Solace rather easy for those of Royal blood, but Prompto knew better than to use it himself. The last thing he needed was for anyone to think that there was something afoot.

And there certainly was something afoot.

Prompto pulled on his simple black sweater, popping up the hood over his spikes. It was unlikely anyone would even notice him—typically those who saw Prompto weren't the same kinds of people who would be found walking around Southern Insomnia—but it was better safe than sorry.

He knew it was ridiculous, but the recent invention of cellphones and webcams and selfie sticks made Prompto feel a little more jittery than he could even remember. Throughout the years it had been easy to be forgotten by those who didn't deserve to remember him. For the first few hundred years, Prompto had wandered, lost and alone and surrounded by his own daemons. No one believed in the stories of the Founder King wandering lost through the lands of Duscae, riding on chocobos black as night.

It had taken time to return to the city, to see what his actions had caused, and it was a blessing to see that both the Citadel and Wall still stood. It has been so easy integrate himself back into the Kingdom he had created through theft and blood debts. Avoiding painters, artisans, any who could have memorialized Prompto's face for eternity—he lived. 

Looking in the mirror was hard enough. It was better that Prompto didn't have to see reminders of himself scattered through scrolls or portraits.

Things were just so damn easy now—every time he walked out of Shiva's Solace for a moment of fresh air there was someone with their phone glued to their hand. Part of him, the same petty part that Prompto had long ago hidden deep down where the Gods could no longer see, thought that it was something he deserved. He deserves to spend the rest of his life in terror of being found. 

He remembered what the people did to Ardyn when they found him to be immortal. Prompto knew just how far the human spirit could be broken by man. He had been the one to do it, after all. 

Still, there was a freedom outside the Red Room, one that he equally yearned for and loathed.

And, of course, they were video games. 

It was something that Prompto enjoyed more than he dared to ever admit. It was something that was more powerful than books or music or even speaking to others. The only thing that brought him such clarity was Death Penalty, which was hidden within his armiger for easy access. 

Not even that, though, could bring him the same comfort as the plastic arcade gun, the trigger worn with sticky fingerprints of a thousand childhood memories that were never his to have. The explosions of lights and sounds, the way those I the arcade never gave him so much as a lookover. The smell of stale air and cheap floor cleaner. 

It was a second home for Prompto—and it was his, too. Cid has snorted when Prompto referred to it as diversifying, but that didn’t really matter. 

Prompto pushed his hands and chest against the glass door, noting that the janitors still hadn’t oiled the door. There was also some gum pulled across the linoleum in a pink spider web of nastiness. Prompto made sure not to step in it as he avoided a couple clasping hands, and he darted toward the area he knew best. 

He was glad to see he was already there, pumping the on-screen zombie full of bullets. He was handsome in the same way that his father had been at his age, the same way that all of the Lucis Caelums were. But there was something special in Noctis's face—it could have been his cupid's bow or the boyishness to his cheeks. Maybe it was even in the way he stuck out his tongue from the corner of his mouth just the slightest when he was concentrating on exploding the head of the zombie that had jumped out at him.

Prompto knew, deep down where the thoughts he knew were darkest hid from the light, that it was because he hadn't broken Noctis yet. He was still pure, still untainted by Prompto. 

Part of him wished that he had the courage to speak to Noctis, to tell him what he knew, to whisper the secrets of his family into his ear. Prompto knew better, though. He knew to keep his distance, he knew that he would lurk in the shadows until Noctis's chamberlain collected him and then he would play the same game, hoping that just by touching the plastic gun he could feel the warmth from Noctis's magic.

Ardyn wasn't the only one cursed, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeaaaaaaaaaaah. I went there. 
> 
> Anyway, if you are interested in seeing more of this story, please let me know! Let me know what pairings you would like to also see! I am thinking that Prompto will also likely have lady friends, as well—as long as they pay, I don't think Prompto will mind at all.


End file.
